


The Tree

by Bunney



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:26:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunney/pseuds/Bunney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A companion piece, but not necessarily a sequel to A Father and his Son.  Draco spends a few moments by the lake, thinking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tree

There is a tree, near the shore of the lake, that had withered and died and, centuries ago, toppled over so that part of it rests in the water. It is my favorite spot to sit and think, and yes, I do have moments of reflection, scarce they may be. I like sitting here for the solitude, but more for the security that it offers – no one would be able to step onto the massive, rotting trunk and come up behind me without my knowledge. In fact, it’s the only place on all of Hogwart’s expansive acreage that I feel utterly safe.

Untying my shoes, I slip them off and tuck my socks into the toe, setting them aside. I move forward, so that I’m sitting on the curve of the trunk, just shy of being dumped off of it. I sink my feet up to the ankles in the glacial-cold water. Heaven.

Distant screams catch my attention and I look over my shoulder towards the lawn, but it’s only a group of girls, first or second-years from the size of them, chasing each other in a game of tag, looking for all the world like a flock of tiny crows in their voluminous black school robes. 

Disinterested, I turn back to the lake, lifting one hand to shield my eyes against the orange sunset streaking the water. It’s the last warm days of autumn; the gathering clouds, dusky with rain, lurk on the Highland horizon. I absently rub the inside of my left arm, wishing I could scrub away the filth marring my skin, the dark evil that had placed it there no more than a ghostly memory. 

Still, I hate what it represents, what it says of me, what it took from me. My friends, my future, my dignity. My mother, murdered before my very eyes, the frenetic laughter of Lucius ringing in my ears. That’s how I refer to him now, unwilling to think of him as anything more than a madman, squatting in the darkness of a cell in the dungeons of Azkaban.

I stroke the outline of the Mark, under the fine Egyptian cotton of my dress shirt, feeling it tingle faintly under my fingers. I could go to Dumbledore or, better yet, Snape, beg them to take it off, burn it off, scourge it from my flesh. But, I don’t. Won’t. Why? Fear, maybe. Fear that they’ll tell me that it’s who I am. Who I’ll always be. A Death Eater. 

A killer.

Lucius.

I toy briefly with the idea of doing it myself, gouging it out with a knife or maybe burning it off, but of my many faults, fear of pain is near the top of the list. It’s enough that the pain inside refuses to be scoured away.

No, the Mark will be my cross to bear, my Achilles’ Heel, and I’ve paid for it in blood. It will be my hiding place, my shelter, from those that might foolishly think that they could befriend Draco Malfoy, from anyone who might think they see worth behind this contemptuous facade. I can just show them my arm, spout outrageous propaganda that I stopped believing long before, send them scurrying back to the safety of Potter and his band of sycophants. 

I need nothing, no one. My memories of that last night, the night before Potter put the final nail in my coffin, so fill my thoughts, that there isn’t room for anything else, least of all friends. My sleep is plagued by the sound of my mother’s lifeless body crumpling to the ground, her eyes staring at me in reproach for not doing something, for not saving her.

Lucius, his last magical deed sending him hurtling into insanity, stood over her body and looked at me with that crystalline gaze that had so terrified me all my life. “Now, you are my immortality, Draco. Remember that. You’re a Malfoy, through and through, and I expect nothing less than greatness from you. Make me proud.”

The Aurors and Lupin found us at that moment and arrested my father, who held my gaze even after they’d apparated from the room, his words echoing in my ears. It was the last time I’d laid eyes on Lucius Malfoy and would remain so. He would die in Azkaban for his crimes and for that I felt some small measure of satisfaction. 

I will devote my life to making a liar out of him.

In the distance, the bells chime for dinner. I put on my shoes and gather my robe and wand. With one final glance at the sun, I walk back to the castle.

*fin*


End file.
